Rue
by writingvibes
Summary: When Rue is reaped for the annual Games, it isn't hard for her to realize she won't make it out alive. Of course, she does her best to survive, and in the arena, she begins to realize all the things she loves and everything she will have to leave behind. The Seventy-fourth Hunger Games from our beloved twelve-year-old's point of view.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello, reader! After writing my Foxface one-shot, I decided to begin on this piece: the Hunger Games from Rue's perspective. I have a lot of great ideas for this story so please follow/fave if you like it! I also love reviews, and constructive feedback is welcome :)_

 _I won't let you down!_

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I smile as my mother fits the white dress over my body. Reaping clothes. Never in my life have I ever worn anything as beautiful as this. She carefully runs a brown hand through my hair and gives me a pat on the shoulder.

I am not worried of getting chosen as tribute. This is my first year entered into the reaping ball, and if anything, I am excited. Tomorrow, my family and I will be able to bring home sacks of tesserae grain because of my entries. And helping my family is my top priority.

Mother had been tense when she heard I was entering my name nine times. Once for the law, and eight more times of tesserae for each member of our family. We will be able to live without under the threat of starvation, even when thriving crops flourish by our backyards.

I feel Father's hand on my back as he gently leads me to the door of our little hut. It isn't much of a place, for there are only two rooms. One room is the family room- it consists of a small stove and a modest wooden table, along with a woven mat and four wooden stools. The other room is the sleeping room, where more woven mats line the floor. We sleep every night on top of and under these mats, huddling together.

At the exit, each of my five siblings line up along the wall from youngest to oldest. The first to give me a hug is little five-year-old Rye. He wraps his thin arms around my legs, which are about as high as he can reach, and I bend down so he can give me a kiss on the cheek. Next is Rose, one year older than Rye and extremely sweet. She hugs me tight and whimpers a little bit.

"I'll be fine," I tell her. She only nods, then I bend down and she kisses me.

Willow, at seven years old, steps forward and snuggles her head in my shoulder. She reaches up and touches her lips to my cheek. I keep moving in silent, single procession, my nine-year-old Belle, and ten-year-old Thorn both hugging me respectively. Finally, I reach my mother at the end of the line, who is brushing a tear away from her face. She takes my hand and I wave goodbye to my family as we walk out onto the grass.

The air is very warm, but even the silence of the usually chatty birds brings a foreboding feeling in the air. I clear my throat and sing my little tune, a four-note hum. My friends, the mockingjays, pick it up and chirp it back to me. Mother smiles.

As we reach the square, the shadow of the looming Justice Building drapes over us. I let go of Mother's hand and silently file in with the other children. I sign in and stand among the other twelve-year-old harvesters.

"Rue!" I turn around and see Bran beside me. He is my best friend, and we always climb the orchards together.

I wave. "Hi, Bran."

A gust of wind echoes around, bouncing on the exterior walls of the surrounding brick buildings, and I shiver. I am glad I don't work in the fields, because with my small, thin frame, I can barely stand any wind. It is usually very sunny here in District 11, but occasionally there are days like today that are cold and dreary.

Sensing I am cold, Bran puts an arm around me and I smile at him gratefully. He always seems to be able to read my mind without asking what is the matter, and that is only part of the reason why he is such an amazing friend.

Two rings of the town bell and we all know it's two o'clock. The square falls silent as Mayor Aaronsohn steps up to the podium and begins to read the story of the history of Panem. I don't bother to listen because I've heard it thousands of times in school before. Instead, I listen to the wailing of the wind as it struggles to make its way around the square. It's a hollow and dreary sound, but it's much better than the dull voice of the mayor as he describes each event, his voice an even monotone.

I tune back in when Mayor Aaronsohn begins to list the victors of District 11. Out of the total eight victors, six are still alive. He reads their names, but it doesn't seem like anyone at all is listening. Even the mayor himself seems bored. We all know what we are waiting for. We are all tensely waiting for the moment when Daphne Riccile will reach her hand into the large glass bowls filled with tiny slips of paper and announce this year's tributes.

Speaking of the devil, Daphne Riccile bounces onto the stage and says something about herself but I am not interested. Nobody is. I allow myself to hear the low groans of the wind and silently laugh about the fact that even _it_ sounds like it is distressed about the boredom happening on stage at the moment.

"...the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" Daphne Riccile ends in her high-pitched squeaky voice. "Now as always, ladies first." She smiles a very creepy Daphne Riccile style smile, showing every single one of her teeth, then hops to the side of the stage and stops in front of the girls' reaping ball.

Bran shifts beside me and whispers, "How many times are you entered?"

"Oh, don't worry," I whisper back, "There's no chance I'm going to get picked."

Daphne Riccile dips her hand into the reaping ball, and teasingly stirs her hand around in it. Finally, after five hours of swirling, she plucks two slips out at the same time. She glances at both of them as if wondering which one she should take. I notice with annoyance how she seems to be enjoying this, torturing us, dragging time longer so she can be under attention for a longer period of time.

She finally flicks off one of the slips and smiles again at the paper left in the middle of her fingers. Then, she struts happily to the podium and unfolds the slip carefully.

Even the wind stops its moaning for the moment as every single soul in the square holds his breath. I feel Bran's grip around me tighten, and it's kind of silly of him worrying for me because I'm obviously not going to get picked, but it doesn't matter. I know every single person in my family is holding their breath, praying for it not to be me, the first daughter of the family to enter in the reaping, carrying the heavy responsibility of keeping her family out of the line of starvation. Heck, even I'm getting a little uneasy myself.

Daphne Riccile opens her mouth and begins to recite the name of the girl tribute for District Eleven. The wind is silent, and I am just about to wonder what caused it to stop when she reads the two words on the slip of paper out loud in a clear voice.

"Rue Eldred!"

Panic jerks up in my chest, but I quickly shake my head. Why is my brain playing tricks on me? I look around for the real girl that was reaped, sure I didn't actually hear the name correctly. But when I glance up at Bran, his face is drained of color and I know that isn't the case.

"Rue Eldred?" Daphne Riccile says again, "Is Rue Eldred present?"

The realization sinks in and I almost choke on my breath. This was my first year in the ball! So what, maybe I had nine entries, but that is nothing compared to the tens of thousands of other slips belonging to the other teenage girls in District 11. Horror hits me as I glance at the narrow path the other people have already made for me, leading to the stage. Bran's arm drops from my shoulder as I take it all in.

Tentatively, I take a step in the direction toward the stage. My skin burns at the feeling of everyone's eyes on me as I make my way through the square. Since I am twelve years old, I am at the very back of the crowd, and trust me, it is not a good feeling to be walking through a path made for you that splits the whole square from back to front. Especially when you are literally walking toward your death. Everyone is muttering, and I wonder for a brief moment what they are talking about when I think, _of course, it must be me._

I wonder if the other children from the orchards recognize me, if they recognize the girl who always sings the four-note tune signaling the end of the work shift every evening, the girl whose voice travels all around the orchards with the help of her friends the mockingjays.

Each step brings more terror. Daphne Riccile is smiling at me, as if already picturing how I will die. Rue Eldred, drowning in a flood. Stabbed by a sword. Killed off in the first hour. I shudder.

But then, I'm not thinking of myself, but of my family. What will happen to Thorn and Belle and Willow and Rose and tiny Rye? Now that they won't have the small bits of my rations that I give them, will their forms become even skinnier and will their ribs become more visible? How about Mother and Father? What are they thinking now? Are they crying already, or are they already planning how to prevent their next child from having this fate? Oh, how Thorn must be shaking and terrified of getting chosen himself when he comes of age!

I stumble up the steps, not wanting to see Daphne Riccile's huge smile, not wanting to see all her teeth as her face scrunches up in a grin no matter how amusing it used to be. I keep my eyes down and take my place beside her. She asks for volunteers, but of course no one stands.

It doesn't help that the wind is now racing again, echoing in this closed area, as if it is the only one who is aware of this raging storm thrashing in my head. The wind. It whines in sorrow, but it's mocking me, taunting me.

Quiet applause follows, and I grit my teeth in frustration as Daphne Riccile hops happily to the other side of the stage.

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 _A/N: Next chapter is going up in the next 48 hours!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Chapter TWOOOOOOO!_

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Daphne Riccile daintily plucks a slip from the boy's bowl. Like during the girls' drawing, everyone is silent. My mind is spinning too fast for me to focus on the moment, but I do notice that the wind hasn't stopped whipping for the occasion.

She prances to the podium again. I hold my breath, thinking, _please let it not be Bran, please not._ I would not want to have to come face to face with him in the arena, nor do I want him to end up with the same fate I am doomed to. The slip unfolds.

"Thresh Dorringham!" Daphne Riccile almost sings out the name, making it sound like an honor to be chosen when we all know it's not. I look around for the victim, the owner of the name that has been carved into everyone's minds. At least it is not Bran.

A massive boulder of a boy - or should I say 'man' - steps onto the stage from the clump of eighteen-year-olds. He has the skin of the darkest ebony and an ox-like body made of muscle. The very body a victor would have. I gulp.

Daphne Riccile asks for volunteers and of course, nobody has the guts to stand up and take his place. Mayor Aaronsohn switches spots with Daphne and begins to recite the Treaty of Treason. The wind sings a mournful song as background music, full of dreariness and dread.

Afterward, I am ordered to shake Thresh Dorringham's hand, and my hand feels tiny and thin in his massive one. The moment after we shake, I feel hands grab my arms from behind and I let out a shriek of surprise. Great for not embarrassing myself, especially when I turn to find they are Peacekeepers. One of them knocks me on my shoulder to get me to keep quiet.

They almost have to drag me into the Justice Building because I am thrashing around in their custody. The Peacekeeper who knocked me grips me tight and just pushes me through the doors. I look around and let out a gasp. The whole room is plush and velvet, covered with soft carpets and scarlet drapes. The Peacekeepers slam the door shut behind me and I am all alone in this beautiful disaster. I let myself fall onto a cushioned sofa, biting my lip to stop any tears from coming out.

My family rushes in immediately afterward. I let Rye climb onto my lap. Little, innocent Rye, who doesn't know he is about to lose his sister forever.

Willow is already sobbing in my Ma's arms. She has spent her life watching the Hunger Games every year, and she understands what is happening. I can tell that Rose can't stand it much longer, either, and she buries her face in my dress.

Thorn is shaking beside me, and I bring him and Belle into a deep hug. For a moment, we all just stay there, cherishing the moment. _The last moment_ , I realize, _of happiness I will ever experience._

Finally, Ma breaks the silence. "Rue... You may not be strong and you can't fight, but working in the orchards has given you an advantage. Hop around on the branches to escape the other tributes. You may be the youngest and the smallest, but that is fine because then you can sleep in the trees. You will be safe at night, and you have helped our family survive with your gathering in the wild meadows so you know edible plants..."

Pa puts a hand on my shoulder. "You are very smart, Rue," he adds quietly.

Rose looks up at me with watering eyes. "When are you coming home?" She asks in a small voice.

I shake my head, and I feel a pang in my chest. "Soon," I tell her. And it's true- I'll be home soon. In a wooden box. Limp, and stone cold.

"Really?" She asks.

My family members don't lie to one another. I swallow and whisper, "Rose, I won't be able to come back alive."

Ma comes and sits down next to me, stroking my hair. My eyes have welled up and she quickly brushes away the first tear that rolls down. "Oh, Rue baby, don't cry," she whispers, even though she is also crying herself. She doesn't say anything more; we don't lie to each other, not even if it will comfort us. She doesn't say, _you can win,_ or, _you can get through this._ There is no point.

Rye sniffs. "But you'll try, won't you?" he asks in a tentative voice, so fragile and vulnerable that I almost break down into more tears.

"Yes, Rye," I say, "I will try my hardest. Then, if we make it-" my voice catches. "If we make it, we'll be rich and won't ever have to worry about starving ever... ever again."

"I don't care if we're going to be rich or poor. I don't care if we will have full bellies or if we will starve... I just want you to be safe and come home," he whispers, shaking. "I don't want you to go. Why do you have to go?"

I almost feel my heart splinter into pieces. Here Rye is, four years old, and unlike the other kids, he is not crying because he wants toys only the rich can afford, not crying because his friends won't play with him; but simply because he wants me to come home. The tears come out again, and this time, I don't stop them. Ma and Pa hug all of us, hard, and then, suddenly, there is a bright streak of light entering the room.

Time's up. As the Peacekeepers are shoving my family out of the door, I begin to panic as I clutch onto Ma's hand. She throws something at me, and I let out a strangled cry as I try to reach toward her, but the door slams shut with a bam and I am left alone again.

I break down into sobs on the carpet. _Why, why, why? This is the last time I will ever be able to see them and we don't even get nearly enough time to be together!_

I crawl to the object Ma threw at me. It is a necklace, a piece of woven weed with the wooden Star of Luck attached to it. I clutch it to my heart. My lucky charm. The only piece I have left of my family to hold onto.

Someone else enters the room. I look up, expecting it to be Bran, but it's not him. It's Lily, my friend from school.

"Hey, Rue," she says awkwardly.

"Hey," I manage to say.

"I- I'm sorry," says Lily. "That you have to go away."

Part of me wants to be furious with her for already giving up on me. I can see it in her eyes; _poor Rue, she's going to die._ But I know it's true, though. Of course, I am going to die. There is no question. We stay in uncomfortable silence until the Peacekeepers come to take her away. She waves, but I don't have it in me to wave back.

The women that help in the apple orchards all come in next, comforting me. When they leave, my neighbor, an old lady with a crooked smile, comes to say goodbye. I get many visitors, but none of them are Bran. I wonder what is taking him so long.

I dangle the lucky charm necklace from my fingertips and slide it on my neck. The Star of Luck rests comfortably in the nook of my collarbone. I sit alone in the dark room of the Justice Building for a long, long time, half waiting for Bran, half waiting to be taken closer toward my death.

Bran never comes. The Peacekeepers come back and soon I find myself in a car, swiftly being whisked away from my home to the train station. Confusion, disappointment, and anger bubble inside me as I think of how Bran didn't visit me for the last time. To say goodbye. He didn't come.

I clench my fists as more tears threaten to stream out. Of all people, all of my _friends_ , only Lily came to show up. Of all people! Why didn't Bran come? What, was _he_ too sad? Nonsense! I chew on my bottom lip until I taste blood flowing into my mouth. _Oh, Bran, why didn't you come?_

The station is packed with reporters and camera crews and fancy Capitol people with their silly hairstyles and odd skin colors. I don't bother to pay attention to any of them, still seething at my best friend's failure to say goodbye. I board the train, a silver vehicle, with Thresh at my side.

I notice immediately that the train is luxurious. In fact, it is even fancier than the room in the Justice Building. I feel Thresh's gaze boring down on me, and when I look up at him, his face is creased in a look of anger and sorrow. I quickly look away.

Daphne Riccile shows me to my quarters and adds, "Dinner in the dining car is served in one hour," before she struts away in her thin high-heels. I close the door behind me and check out the room. A fine bed with white embroidery sheets sits in the middle, and light blue shades hang by the windows. There is also a private bathroom! Tired from the day's crying and distress, I strip off my clothes and step into what I think is called a shower.

Oh, how fine it feels to have steamy hot water streaming out from a tap with just a slide of a glass panel! I have never had a shower before. Back home, we always washed in the nearby ponds, and during winter, we just wiped ourselves down with a damp cloth before we went to bed. I play around with the different shampoos and conditioners I can rub into my hair. I tap a button and tubes come out from the ceiling and walls to gently massage creams onto my body. When I step out, warm air whizzes around me until my hair and skin are completely dry. I touch my hand to my frizzy hair to find it soft and bouncy on my head.

Delighted, I open the drawers to a dresser to find dozens of fine blouses and pants. I throw on a blue shirt and jeans and lay down on the feather-soft bed, sinking right in. My eyes shift toward the window. We are traveling so fast! Scenery flies past as I try to take in everything. The forests, the lakes. I suppose I will need to see some of this to be prepared in the arena.

The arena. Just the idea makes me feel sick to the stomach. I try to direct my thoughts somewhere else, but then all I can think of is my family. Poor little Rye! And Rose and Willow and Belle, my three girls! I know Thorn will be trying to stay solid. But what about Ma and Pa... and Bran! Despite my previous anger, all I can do now is miss him.

I think of District 11, the small wooden hut and the little latrine we use in our backyard. I think of the orchards, then my friends, then everything about home comes rushing back to me. I don't want to get upset again, I don't want to cry. I have to focus on the moment, on what's happening right now.

So I lie in the comfort of my blankets until Daphne Riccile comes tapping on my door for dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Hey reader! If you're still reading by now, that is awesome and I'm so happy you're taking the time to read this little story. Here's Chapter 3!_

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The dining car is located at the very back of the train. It consists of a beautifully carved table made of what Daphne calls mahogany draped over with a white tablecloth. My chair is cushioned and so tall that my feet dangle in midair. The window rims are decorated with golden jewels, and overall, the price of everything in here could help my family last for years with full bellies. The room is _dazzling_.

But even this is nothing in comparison to the food.

Servants- _servants!-_ bring me platters and platters and _platters_ of it. The first thing that is placed in front of me is a bowl of carrot soup and a plate of green lettuce. I taste the hot soup, thick and creamy in my mouth. Then, I stare at the lettuce.

"It's salad, dear," says Daphne. She's watching me very closely.

I nod, then take a forkful of it. It's lush and cold. Iceberg lettuce. Bran's father works in that field. I stuff myself with the soup and salad, never eating such amazing food in my entire life.

"So," says the gray-haired man sitting beside me, "I'm Chaff, your mentor before and during the Games. Maybe after them, too, but it's been some time since I've seen my kid come back out alive." Somehow the joke is not funny at all. "Millie here,"-he gestures to the lady sitting next to Thresh-, "is your district partner's mentor."

"Okay," I say, "Nice to meet you. I'm Rue."

He chuckles. "So I've heard."

I carefully wipe my fingers on my napkin. A servant girl with blonde hair comes and takes my plates away.

"Thank you," I tell her. She looks at me for a moment, surprise clear in her eyes, before quickly nodding and rushing away. I turn to the others in confusion. Thresh, sitting across from me, simply shrugs, but Daphne is looking at me in shock.

"What?" I ask.

She shakes her head quickly. "That girl is an Avox. Don't talk to her. At all. Except when giving orders."

I understand. I've heard of the stories back home. Avoxes are criminals, traitors to the Capitol. They get their tongues cut out so they can't speak, and are forced to work for 'the good of the country'. I look down in embarrassment, then stand up, preparing to leave. The meal is over, after all.

"Where are you going, dear?" asks Daphne, "There is more to come, you know. That was just the appetizer. Come, sit down."

I am still kind of flustered from the Avox. But then, more food comes, and soon I am stuffing myself again, eating everything coming toward me because never in my life have I ever, ever had enough to eat. I see that the utensils are slowing me down, so I drop them on the table and just eat the lamb chops with my hands, dipping them in the mashed potatoes and sending them flying to my mouth. When I am finished, I scrape up the sauce with my fingers and lick them clean.

A different Avox takes my plate away this time. When I look up, Daphne is staring at me again.

"What? I didn't talk to the Avox," I say.

She doesn't answer, instead choosing to wipe her mouth with her napkin and scurry away to what she calls the 'powder room'. When she is gone, I glance at Chaff.

He lets out a laugh. "Daphne is a real squirm when it comes to table manners," he says.

Thresh smirks, so I just shrug it off. When Daphne comes back, though, I make sure to eat with my fork, and she seems to sigh in relief. I find it pretty amusing.

When the meal is finished, we all gather in another fancy room to watch the recap of the reapings. I decide I should pay attention to the other tributes since I will be facing them in the arena.

District 1 is a Career district. We all know it- their kids have been trained with weapons and blood all their life for when they are seventeen to eighteen to volunteer as tribute. It's technically illegal, but since the people of 1 are the lapdogs of the Capitol, there have been no files against them. Their tributes consist of a tall boy named Marvel and a blonde girl named Glimmer.

A huge bulk of a person from 2 volunteers to be the male tribute. A smaller, dark haired girl volunteers to be the female. I stop keeping track of names because I want the most important things in my head. These two, they have a menacing and evil smirk on their faces as the shake hands. They have a _plan_ , and the thought makes a chill go down my spine. It seems like a good idea not to get on the bad side of them, especially the boy. He could rip me to shreds in seconds.

The District 3 reapings are less interesting, and the District 4 ones are just about the same as the other Career districts. A fox-faced girl and short boy are the tributes of 5. 6, 7, 8, and 9 don't seem very interesting. I do notice that District 10's boy tribute has a crippled foot.

Then, it's my district. I hear my name getting called, the dark-colored skin on my face losing just a bit of color. I watch as Bran lets go of me. I watch as I go up the steps, ignoring the toothy smile Daphne Riccile gives me up on the stage. I watch as she asks for volunteers. The wind howls in reply.

The commentators talk about how they _oh so pity_ me, then say how Thresh _must have a decent chance at winning since he looks like a boulder of strength._

I do have thoughts about their words, but then I am absolutely transfixed to the screen when District 12 happens to also pull out a twelve-year-old. The little blonde girl makes her way to the stage. But then, unexpectedly, an older girl rushes up to take her place. She must be a sister or cousin of some sort, but the two look almost nothing alike. The older girl scrambles onto the stage, a hint of horror in her eyes. Her name, she says, is Katniss.

I don't know what happens next. Apparently, nobody applauds, but the audience does some sort of gesture. Then, the male tribute, a medium height boy comes on stage. I don't really pay attention. My thoughts are now on the little blonde girl who was spared by her sister. She was so lucky! Unlike me. Nobody volunteered for me. I wonder if I would volunteer if Belle or one of my other sisters was reaped.

I also wonder, for a fleeting moment, if I had an older sister... if she would volunteer for me. And though I hate myself for it, I actually hope she would.

Chaff tells me to get some sleep and he will meet with me in the morning. I nod and make my way to my room. Before I make it there, though, I hear someone call me from behind. I turn around. It's Thresh.

"How old are you, little girl?"

Why would he ask me that?

"Twelve," I say, unsteadily.

He shakes his head with a sad sigh. "They shouldn't have done this to you."

Before I can ask what he means, he is gone.

I go into my room and find a drawer filled with beautiful nightgowns. I pull on a light blue one, and it's as soft as my mother's hair. Must be made of silk.

I crawl into my bed, thinking of today. It couldn't really be possible, could it? I was in District 11 not a few hours ago. I had a loving family, a best friend, a job to hop around orchard branches. I was home. And now I'm not.

Despite myself, I feel tears rising again, and I sigh. My family. What are they doing now? I would give all the wealth I have experienced just now to be with them. All the food, all the showers, all the beautiful nightgowns and soft beds. Even for Bran. I wouldn't even ask him why he didn't visit me, I would just be happy enough to be with him.

Tears stream out of my eyes, wetting the sheets. I find myself making awful noises, but when I try to stop them, they just come out even louder. I choke on the air, on nothing. _I don't want to die._ I have just begun living my life! Twelve years old. The year of your life. Isn't that what Ma said?

"Ma," I whisper. "Pa..." My words dissolve into sobs. _I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die._ Why did the Capitol have to do this to me? I think of Thresh. Is he feeling homesick, too? He rarely even shows any emotion, but could he be missing his parents right now, too? He wouldn't be crying like me, no, he wouldn't, but he might be thinking of them.

Another wave of emotion washes over me, racking me with sobs. I struggle to breathe, but they're ragged, I'm ragged, it's all ragged, everything is ragged. I want my family. I miss them. I don't want the next time we meet to be at the graveyard. I don't want to end up, bloody and weak, with an arrow to my neck or a spear to my chest. I don't want to have a sword protrude through me, don't want to have my face sliced off by a knife. These people I'm going to go in the arena with, they know how to _kill_. And I have not the slightest idea how to use a weapon at all!

I manage to quiet down some, then I get up and walk to the bathroom. When I look at myself in the mirror, I see that the salt from my tears has swollen my eyes up. Great. Tomorrow morning, these marks will stay there for a few more hours and everyone will know I cried. Anger rises up inside me. Tomorrow will be the opening ceremony- the Tribute Parade. And I will not give anyone the pleasure of thinking I am a weakling, an easy target. Even if I am.

I vow from then on to never cry ever again. Even in the arena, I will have a straight face, one that is determined, clever, strong, and sponsor-worthy. No, I will not cry. From here on, I will resist tears. Get tougher. Then, maybe then, I might stand a chance of winning... If I could survive the bloodbath in the beginning.

Boy, am I going to need Chaff's help.

I quickly clean my teeth and cuddle into bed. With the no-crying rule set in mind and the exhaustion of the day weighing down on me, I drift into a restless sleep.

Joy rushes into me as I find myself hopping from orchard branch to orchard branch, giving some red apples little knocks to hear if they are sound and ripe. I find a red one that sounds good, and I quickly pluck it off and toss it to Bran, who is beside me. He laughs, then passes it on to Lily, who passes it to Thorn, then the apple goes down the line of people until it reaches the ground and is tossed into a basket. From the highest branch, I catch sight of the flag. Workshift is over.

I sing out my four-note tune, and the mockingjays immediately pick it up. They repeat it all around the orchard, and soon, everyone is heading home. I leap off the branch and fall directly into Ma and Pa's arms. They snuggle with me for a moment, then all my siblings come, then Bran, then all my friends. We are one big huddle party.

Then, apples start falling from the trees. They make loud knocking sounds as they plummet down and hit the ground. My eyes fling open. Daphne Riccile's voice is now in the center of my mind's attention, and she's knocking on the door.

"Wake up, dear! We're at the Caaaaapitol!"

I grunt, then try to find my way back to my family, to District 11, but I can't. I stay in bed for another moment, tangled in the blanket, savoring the sweetness of the dream.

Of course, it doesn't come back.

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 _A/N: Please review/fave/follow! Thanks :)_


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